


chocolate and cinnamon

by Star_on_a_Staff



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Annette is a ball of competitive energy and Felix is Confusion, Burns, Cooking, Desserts, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Injury Recovery, Mentioned Blue Lions Students (Fire Emblem), Minor Injuries, PATISSERIE AU, Pre-Relationship, Rivalry, Slight Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:21:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25542001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_on_a_Staff/pseuds/Star_on_a_Staff
Summary: Annette tosses her hair. “I guess we’ll just have to see who gets the best marks in class then. Maybe you can learn something about how beneficial a traditional approach to cooking could be!”“Fine.” Felix cocks his head at her, curious, assessing. “I’ll take you up on your challenge."Or; Annette and Felix one-up each other in sweets until fluff ensues. Pre-relationship. Modern AU. Pâtisserie!Felix/Annette. Commission for starrymatcha!
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 10
Kudos: 61





	chocolate and cinnamon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starrymatcha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrymatcha/gifts).



> I had way too much fun "researching" this piece by watching, at tori's suggestion, Yumeiro Patissiere and a bunch of French cooking videos. Go check out the anime, it's got fluff and felannie vibes GALORE. 
> 
> This was commissioned by the lovely starrymatcha, who asked for 4000 words of Bakery AU pre relationship felannie. I immediately turned this into a culinary school AU instead, but remind me to make this a running series and give these two the bakeries they deserve!!
> 
> Anyways, please enjoy!

With a long legacy that stretches back to the country’s founding, Garreg Mach Academy rests in the heart of three epicenters of unmatched culinary splendor, drawing and producing unmatched chefs worldwide. Therefore, it comes as a sort of shock when the stoic new arrival to the academy a few days before classes begin is announced to be the new professor of this year’s incoming batch of culinary students. 

The students mill around in the kitchens, waiting for the professor to enter and give them their assignments. To cozy and homemadeAnnette, the kitchens at Garreg Mach are unworldly in their pristine modernity; spotless, smooth, and fitted out with far more implements than she’s ever dreamt of possessing all at once. It’s a clean, white space, and Annette can not feel more left-footed and out of place. 

The whispering and gossiping in the classroom suddenly hushes as the door flies open and the deadly beautiful professor strides in with her arms full of books and ledgers and then marches up to the front of the classroom. 

“Hello class,” she announces with the enthusiasm of a brick wall, “my name is Professor Byleth, and for your first session with me today, I would like you all to make me your speciality. This is my way of getting to know what your perceived skills are versus your actual skills in cooking. You have thirty minutes.” 

The professor glances up at the clock and nods. “Begin.”

The kitchen erupts into a flurry of activity as students scramble to find ingredients or a mixing bowl to begin their preparations. Annette panics for a good thirty seconds before she finally decides on cinnamon madeleines, something that might edge over the time limit if she’s not careful but will showcase what she believes to be her strongest attributes as a novice pâtissière. 

They come out well; lightly browned at the edges and smelling like pure heaven. The indomitable professor raises an eyebrow when she tastes one of the madeleines, nodding towards Annette with approval. 

“The texture is wonderful.” Byleth licks the cinnamon off of her fingers and nods towards Annette, who beams under the praise like a cat in sunlight. 

“However, I think your flavor is lacking, and you need to work on keeping your batter light and airy before you place it in the oven. See how this one is caving in here, in the center?” The professor points, and Annette nods, trying to remember every word as Byleth finally straightens. 

“However, this is exceptional for your skill level. I look forward to your progress in the future.” She smiles, and Annette marvels at how easily this woman has fallen into the role of tutor even after only a few days at Garreg Mach. 

“Thank you, Professor! I’ll do my best to make you proud, I promise!” Annette pumps her fists, and Byleth nods, a twinkle of merriment in her serene green eyes. 

The professor moves from workstation to workstation, showering her unique blend of criticism and praise on each student in the class as she tastes their dishes. 

Some of her advice is generous, almost kind. “You’ve done a very good job with this maple gateau, Mercedes, but remember, gateau isn’t just an ordinary cake with a fancy name. Make this rich, and don’t skimp on the cream.”

For others, her criticism is scathing. “What on Fódlan am I eating, Sylvain Gautier, a mille-feuille or a garden? Don’t pretty up your dish if you have no substance. The flavors are there, but this display is just ostentatious.” 

With every piece of advice and criticism dropped, Annette realizes that her classmates are not just “really talented at baking”; they are actual trained pâtisserie makers in their own right. She feels relieved that her dish went first, because her simple cinnamon madeleines feel underwhelming compared to the spiraling structures and gorgeously arranged desserts that some of her classmates have produced. 

Dimitri Blaiddyd’s two-part elderflower arrangement doesn’t even  _ look  _ like a pastry; it spirals and collapses into a golden pool of honey and berry compote and apparently tastes even better because upon her first taste the professor’s eyebrows shoot up and she casts an incredulous look at the chef, who is smiling rather apologetically behind his workstation. 

“I apologize, it’s the aftertaste, isn’t it?” Dimitri asks, almost as if he thinks he made a mistake. “I’m still learning to identify flavors by scent alone, but--”

“No, no.” The professor shakes her head, as if amazed and utterly baffled. “This…this is high dining material you’ve cooked for me, Dimitri. I have nothing to find fault with. Well done.”

Murmurs go around the room. The first perfect score. 

“No one would really expect any different from Dimitri,” Mercedes observes serenely. “He’s incredible with aromatics, and is the son of Azure Chef Lambert Blaiddyd after all.”

“No doubt,” Annette replies in a low voice. “Do you have any bets on who else would get a perfect score from Professor Byleth? Everyone seems to be doing really well here!”

“I thought it would’ve been Dimitri,” Mercedes hums, her eyes roving around the room as Professor Byleth tastes and praises Ashe Ubert’s raspberry and almond tart. “Who do  _ you  _ think will earn that high praise, Annie?”

Annette glances around the room, to where Dedue Molinaro is keeping a watchful eye on his iced saghert and cream dish while Ingrid Galatea frets over her pear and apple crisp.  _ They’re also strong contenders, _ she thinks to herself.  _ They could be it. _

But then Annette’s eyes fall on Felix Hugo Fraldarius, and she knows her choice is made. 

The chef in question is leaning against his workstation with his arms crossed, standing over a careful arrangement of deep, dark chocolate mousse, rimmed with caramelized ginger and mint leaves that bring out the dark lustre of the dessert. With little to no effort made on presentation, the dish looks dark and foreboding in its stark simplicity, and just looking at the black plate makes Annette shudder at whatever kind of monster lies in that kind of unwelcoming dessert. 

She blinks up, and realizes with a jolt that Felix is watching her, his eyes dark and deeply unsettling in their unfathomability. Annette quickly turns her attention back to where Professor Byleth is commending Dedue on his use of spices, and shivers as she feels Felix’s gaze rake over her one last time before turning away.

“Felix looks evil,” she whispers to Mercedes, “but he looks like he knows what he’s doing.”

Mercedes makes an approving noise. “I agree.”

Professor Byleth finally turns away from advising Ingrid on crust texture and approaches Felix’s workstation. “Felix.” Her voice is clear and thoughtful as she studies the darkly colored dish set before her. “Tell me about your dessert.”

Felix crosses his arms. “It’s a dark chocolate mousse. With ginger and mint leaves.” He shrugs his shoulders. “That’s it.”

Byleth raises an eyebrow at him, but she takes a fork and prods the quivering mound of mousse with one of the prongs. “The bounce is good. You’ve nailed the consistency of the dessert without rendering it insubstantial.”

She scoops off a generous amount with the ginger and the leaves and tastes the mousse. Everyone holds their breath, but Felix just watches Byleth chew with a critical expression, and Annette wonders suddenly if he’s judging her as thoroughly as she’s judging his work. 

“This is…” Byleth licks her fork clean with an indescribable expression on her face, “...strange. There’s a depth of flavor I can’t quite put my finger on. Did you use orange peels in this?”

Felix’s shoulders untense, and there’s a small grudging acceptance in his face that flashes across his expression too quickly for Annette to capture. “I did. I used some orange liqueur to caramelize the ginger.”

Byleth shakes her head, baffled. “You earned your reputation, Felix. This is…” She trails off, still shaking her head, and taps the prongs of her fork to her mouth thoughtfully. “This has been very productive. Very good job, everyone. Share your work with your friends, and I’ll see you tomorrow. Our studies can then begin in earnest.”

“Thank you, professor,” the classroom echoes before the students begin to clean and disperse for the day. Annette takes a nibble on her madeleines and winces as the pastry flakes apart in her mouth, not melting in the way she was hoping to achieve.

“Hey.”

She nearly jumps out of her skin as the uninteresting monotone sneaks up from behind her. “BAH!”

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Felix says. “I just wanted to try your madeleines if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“O-oh!” Annette hastily snarfs down the last remainder of her own pastry and whirls to face him. Up close, he looks even more imposing and movie villain-like, what with his darkened scowl and all. “I mean, you don’t have to try if you don’t want to!”

“I do.” Felix shifts uncomfortably. “Want to try them, I mean,” he adds lamely, and Annette just stares at him in confusion. This conversation is going great. 

“They’re not perfect,” Annette babbles as he reaches out to take one. “They’re kind falling apart and I can’t really get them to stay fluffy after a long period of time and honestly I’m terrible at judging how much cinnamon to—”

Felix takes a bite out of one the less-collapsed ones, and Annette suddenly feels more put on the spot than with being around Professor Byleth. It’s not a terrifying feeling, but when Felix raises his eyes to lock with hers after swallowing, Annette feels like she’s being peeled and cored just like one of Ingrid’s yellowing pears. 

“Well…?” she asks tentatively, and then winces instinctually as Felix makes a face. 

“It’s so  _ sweet _ .” He casts an incredulous look to the rest of her poor innocent pastries, and Annette instinctively bristles up at the clear disdain in his eyes.

“It’s a cinnamon madeleine,” she says defensively, all but brandishing her spatula in his face, “it’s supposed to be sweet! That’s what this is all about!”

“I’m not trying to say that this isn’t good, which it is,” Felix says with a hint of defensiveness as he draws his thumb over his mouth to catch the last stray bits of cinnamon sugar, “but desserts aren’t supposed to be overwhelming. They’re meant to bookend a meal and give the diner closure, not diabetes.”

“You’re one to talk!” Annette loses all fear of this dour-sounding villain who dares to act so high and mighty with her and shakes her cinnamon flavored finger in his face. “Let me try your dessert if you think you’re so much better than me!”

“I don’t think I’m—” Felix runs a frustrated hand through his hair before sighing. “Alright, give me a moment.”

He resignedly goes to fetch his own dish from his workstation as the room begins to empty around them. Annette taps her foot agitatedly as the last of the remaining students cast a curious look in their direction before exiting the room to leave them to their own devices. If it weren’t for the fact that this decidedly impolite boy had just gravely injured her pride, Annette would’ve flushed at the very notion of being left in a room alone with a (kind of) handsome young man, but all she could think about now was how to decidedly show Felix how wrong he is. 

“It’s not even going to be that tasty,” Annette mutters reassuringly to herself as Felix walks back with his dish in his hand. “If it made Professor Byleth speechless, it must taste  _ really _ weird.”

He wordlessly offers her a spoon. Taking it with a bit of a huff, Annette scoops a generous amount of the mousse and pops it in her mouth. 

It’s…

Annette scrunches up her face instinctively at the torrent of flavors that have assaulted her tongue. Not only are they almost acrid in their combination, but there’s a lingering aftertaste that must be the effect of the caramelized ginger that lifts the dark chocolate to its most unsweetened and luxurious prominence in her mouth. It’s not sweet, it’s not savory, but something heady and altogether overwhelming. 

“You’re making a face,” Felix observes. 

“It’s so…” Annette runs her tongue over the grooves in her molars and winces at the acrid pops of dark chocolate that linger in her mouth. “… _ bitter _ .”

“I used some very dark chocolate for this.” Felix takes a bite out of his own mousse and savors it thoughtfully. “I gather that you don’t care for it much.”

“It’s not awful!” Annette admits hastily, “It’s very rich and thick…but I think you could’ve used something sweeter to brighten everything up, that’s all.”

“Hence the caramelized ginger.” Felix points out. “The whole point of the thick texture is to make the ginger the highlight of the dish, not the mousse. The thickness of the mousse serves as a backdrop for the ginger’s flavors to come through.”

“But then you should’ve featured the ginger more prominently in your dish than just decorating the edge of your plate with it!” Annette argues, still trying to blink through her watering eyes. “Maybe add, I don’t know, cinnamon or something to sweeten your dish overall?”

Felix casts an amused look to her tray of cinnamon madeleines. “You have a preference.”

Annette crosses her arms. “I do. What about it?”

“Just because you may have a weakness for sweets doesn’t mean every pâtissière should, you know.” Annette bristles in response to Felix’s cool observation as he moves to finish the last of his mousse with quick efficiency. 

“You just have to be the kind of guy who is so sure of himself, huh?” She munches on a madeleine with some spite, but doesn’t notice the small upturn of Felix’s lips as he moves to clean his workstation.

“You’re set in your own ways, I’m set in mine. I don’t see how this affects anything,” he says affably even as he cleans his workstation with clinical precision, as if he had trained all his life in a professional-grade kitchen. Perhaps the rumors about his background are true after all. 

Annette tosses her hair. “I guess we’ll just have to see who gets the best marks in class then. Maybe you can learn something about how beneficial a traditional approach to cooking could be!”

“Fine.” Felix cocks his head at her, curious, assessing. “I’ll take you up on your challenge. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Yeah.” Annette scowls determinedly at her collapsing madeleines, hot competition unfurling in her chest as she scrubs at the cinnamon speckled surface of her workstation with fervor. 

She’ll show him. This is going to be a chance for Annette Dominic to prove that she’s not just some backwater homebody who managed to get lucky. She’ll show  _ him _ , alright!

O.O

Felix proves to be just as infuriatingly talented as the local rumors paint him to be. And although their classmates view their so-called “rivalry” with a bit of bemused curiosity, Felix continues to meet her determined competitiveness with his cooler but no less passionate dedication to perfecting their craft over the course of the next few weeks. 

They’re neck to neck in every live cooking session. When Annette’s honey-drizzled biscottis get a perfect mark from Professor Byleth one day, the very next day Felix’s tarte aux noisettes receive not only a perfect score but a verbal commendation in front of the entire class. 

As outspoken as their rivalry is, their silent agreement to stay up late and quietly work on their own individual weaknesses late into the night is less verbally acknowledged. Annette would busy herself on one end of the kitchen while Felix works on the other side, and though the room is spacious enough to fit all the rest of their classmates inside, Annette always feels a little shiver go up her spine whenever she turns and catches his amber gaze lingering on her. 

It’s…not entirely unpleasant. 

“You’re staring at me.” She calls him out one night over a large bowl full of golden batter. “It’s getting a little creepy to be honest.”

“Sorry,” Felix says unapologetically as he rapidly shreds yet another thick stick of dark chocolate on his cutting board. “I was just intrigued by your…technique.” 

He raises his head to meet her accusing gaze, his own stare more thoughtful than antagonizing. “Do you always sing while you bake?”

Annette nearly drops the egg whites she’s beating together. “What?!” she sputters, pointing a shaking spatula at him, “were you eavesdropping on me again?”

“We’re the only two people in this room.” Felix points out dryly, but a twinkle of something fun games with some satisfaction in his eyes. “I can’t exactly play deaf to your songs.”

_ Oh, this villain! _ Annette fumes in despair as she folds in her batter with far too much force than was needed. Her cake is going to be a lumpy disaster at this rate. “Well, you have to forget it or I will  _ crush _ you in tomorrow’s cooking session.”

“Maybe.” Felix concedes as he stirs his melting chocolate with a smile. “I look forward to it.”

Annette has to restrain herself from kicking her oven shut. She must be growing too accustomed to his presence, because these nightly sessions are growing almost…dare she say…pleasant. Like she has a friend who can actually appreciate her skills for what they are instead of being something to laugh about behind too-smooth palms. 

Because despite his standoff-ish behavior and fiercely unforgiving competitive streak, Felix is almost affable in their exchanges. Offering to watch her pudding tins cool as she runs to grab her notes, or reserving the last bottle of raspberry cordial for her tarte the next day…even Mercedes hesitates to be too generous with her in this competitive “first come, first serve” attitude in Garreg Mach Academy. 

_ No, I am not becoming friends with him _ , Annette thinks to herself furiously as she drizzles sugar onto her frying pan.  _ That would be super weird and not at all nice. I’m friends with Mercedes, and Ashe and Dedue. Felix is not my friend. Nope, not at all—  _

“Annette,” Felix calls with mingled amusement and alarm from across the room, “I think your pan is—”

Annette glances up in horror. Thin tendrils of smoke are rising at a frightening pace from the bubbling surface of her pan. “Oh, shi—!”

_ KA-POW! _

In hindsight, it seemed completely improbable that a pan filled with nothing but burnt sugar and some lightly seasoned molasses would explode out of the blue like this. But explode it did, and so as Annette’s ears slowly stop ringing and her vision begins to swim back into focus, the first thing she’s aware of are Felix’s deep-slitted amber eyes staring concernedly back at hers from a frankly indecent distance.

“Are you out of your  _ mind _ ?!” He’s ranting at her as her vision and hearing slowly peter beach into her senses. “You were over an open flame! How could you have not been paying attention?! Do you know how badly that could’ve gone?! Let me see your arms, you absolutely insane madwom—”

“Ow,” Annette finally and stupidly says after she’s found her voice again, plaintive and honestly a little pathetic in the hissing aftermath of a botched caramel recipe. What stunning eloquence. 

The fierce concern on Felix’s face softens, and he gingerly releases his white-knuckled grip on Annette’s wrists as his fingers turn to cradle her reddened hands. “Come over to the sink, quick.”

As ice-cold water spills over her angry reddened skin, Annette watches as Felix wrings out a towel with the same brisk efficiency as he would handle a knife, and wonders as he withdraws her arms from under the faucet’s flow to apply the damp coolness to her skin if he’s done this before. 

Every chef has to deal with all manners of burns and cuts over the course of their career, but dealing with a fellow chef’s injuries is another matter entirely. And even as Felix mutters and continues to scold under his breath, there’s a gentleness to the way he treats her burns that tips Annette off to the fact that maybe his bedside manner isn’t as bad as she would’ve initially guessed. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs as Felix rifles through a nearby drawer for the first-aid kit that always lurks nearby in a kitchen like this. “I should’ve been paying closer attention to what I was doing.”

Felix withdraws a chunky white box that barely rattles and brusquely gestures for her to sit as he fiddles with its contents. “It happens to the best of us,” he replies, eyeing the medicine’s expiration dates as Annette tries not to fidget under his scrutiny. 

She kicks her feet as Felix carefully smears strips of white medicine on her arms with an excruciatingly light pressure that belies the deep furrow in his brow as he works. It’s a nice feeling, to be cared for by someone instead of figuring how to bandage your own arm as tears pinprickle at the sides of your eyes from the glaring pain shooting through your body. 

Now, at least she can hold on to Felix as he bandages her up, and even though he’s still a villain who makes fun of her cooking and her singing, Annette can’t deny that he is… at the very,  _ very  _ least…a nice villain. Who has really nice fingers and is very gentle with her. 

Wait.

Oh.

_ Oh, no. _

Later, when an alarmed Felix is asking her if the reason she’s groaning is because her burns are acting up, Annette just nods, because that feeling is so much easier to explain.

O.O

After that night, they arrive at a truce.

“I’m in your debt.” Annette declares to Felix the following morning, after they’ve made their explanations and apologies to a slightly concerned Professor Byleth and an absolutely livid Advisor Seteth respectively. “But I think I can make it up to you if we can work together in group exercises in the future, so this way we can forget it ever happened?”

“Why would we want to forget it?” Felix asks in a voice that could either be genuine puzzlement or deadpan teasing. 

Annette bristles. “Because! It was stupid and I don’t want to develop a reputation of being that girl who blows up stove tops wherever she goes! So you better agree and keep quiet because otherwise-”

Felix cocks an eyebrow at her as they shuffle to a stop outside their classroom door, where the indoor murmuring of other voices buzz like white noise behind them. “Otherwise what?” he prompts. 

“Oh, I don’t know!” Annette throws up her bandaged hands in frustration. “You’re just so frustrating! You’re supposed to be unlikable, but now you’re just…Felix.”

“Thanks,” Felix says dryly, and Annette waves her hands frantically. “It’s not an insult, I promise!”

“I get it.” Amusement colors his tone, and she relaxes as he pulls open the door for them to enter. Before she walks in though, he puts his arm before her and gestures towards the rest of the class. 

“You’re better than what they think of you,” Felix says gravely. “And I’m better than what you seem to think of me. So let’s make sure that we both get our perfect scores and not blow ourselves up in the process, alright?”

“You’re terrible.” Annette tries to scowl at him, but her mouth doesn’t seem to want to cooperate because they turn up into a big smile anyway. “Deal.”

As they find their respective workstations and snap to attention as Professor Byleth breezes in with the day’s assignments, Annette wonders on how exactly she had managed to make friends with the strangest and surliest of friends here in Garreg Mach Academy. As they roll their dough and whisk their batter, Annette catches glimpses of Felix watching her from across the room and sticks her tongue out at him as he smirks back in response. 

_ Perhaps this was all for the best _ , Annette thinks happily to herself as Byleth walks up to her workstation with a curious air. 

“Annette.” The professor cocks her head at her student and gestures to where Felix is peering into his oven, a puckish sort of smile lifting her lips. “Our friend Felix over there tells me that he’s baking some sort of improvised chocolate madeleines at your behest. Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

Annette blinks, and gazes down to where she’s piping cinnamon mousse into a dark chocolate crust, rimmed with unburnt caramel and mint extract. 

“I don’t know,” she tells her professor honestly as Felix resurfaces from under the counter with a triumphant look on his face and a pan of perfect chocolate madeleines in his hands. “I guess you can say we learned a little from each other.”

.

.

  
  


fin

**Author's Note:**

> they got perfect marks from professor byleth and a sudden influx of friends asking if they started dating
> 
> Thanks again to starrymatcha for commissioning this amazing idea to me!! I had a great time writing this!
> 
> Thank you for reading!!


End file.
